


Today

by ReinyDay



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cuddling, Fluff, M/M, Snuggling, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 07:19:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18823825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReinyDay/pseuds/ReinyDay
Summary: Wrote this for a class! Soz if its short and doesn't go anywhere, but that was the take on the class without making myself too embarrassed to write this.. Setting these two in modern setting, leave Wash in his thoughts, and there you go. Borrowed some names other people used.





	Today

"Heading out."

"Kay," David responds, his focus remaining on the bacon refusing to pierce.

 

The door closes behind Matt and David finds himself alone. Alone. With questions of why he can't stab a piece of bacon. Half a minute passes before David gives up, picking the strip of pork up and chews it off his fingers. Satisfaction rumbles. Just above his Adam's apple where it scratches at the dryness of yesterday.

He picks up the empty plate, clattering the forgotten utensils on top before he balances his way towards the bathroom. From the entrance to sink, the plate drops into the pile, a simulation of _Tetris_ playing out in David's head. The catchy theme drowns out the deafening metal below. He doesn't bother looking in the mirror on the way out.

David returns to the living room, his brows furrowing at the corners; piles of unwashed clothes in one, a clean mountain in the other. He doesn't know why they don't ever just fold the ones they bring in from the public wash. The only one benefitting is Thompson, their Maine Coon, who gets a free real-estate. And it'd be when Hell freezes over before the tiny devil relinquishes it.

"Well, today's good as any other!" He jokes to nobody, hoping to brighten his spirits.

Either bravely, or ignorantly, or both, David stumbles over to the clean pile, dodging the ‘antique' dining table- _Matt says a coffee table is no replacement for one; David says if a bathroom sink can clean dirty dishes, why not this_ \- he investigates carefully for the distinct signs of warning. Shifts under a shirt, deceptive purrs, or even the final hiss before the pounce. With none of the conditions, he steps closer.

And like that one scene out of that film, David sees it. He catches movement around the corner of his sight. He turns slowly. Lo and behold, there Thompson prepares an ambush, his plump body already condensing into a ball.

Strategy. Offence. Defence. As if mocking all David's prepared for, the cat balances on the dirty sofa at eye level.

 _‘Clever boy,'  
_Thompson pounces.

 

 

David palms the tank-top flat, now dissecting the mystery of how to fold a sleeveless shirt. Then he wonders if anyone would care. Probably his mother. And the rigorous hours of chores she tried to drill into the family. Nobody could blame her when the lessons didn't stick to four rug rats and one constant drunk. The lady half-hearting it up until her last child, David, and giving up when the cold took over.

It's been years since the _great escape_ , a year before David and Matt found their place. Along with the territory came Thompson, who they adopted despite the clear ‘no vermin' policy. Does it matter as long as they aren't caught? And Thompson conveniently agrees to the long-standing partnership.

David eyes said business partner, across the room, where the feline occupies a neatly stacked tower of jackets. Jackets he surrenders as a fee into the domain. David lifts his hand and inspects the itch forming underneath the surface, where two streaks of severed skin run from one corner to the other, red dots growing. Truly, Thompson provides nothing to the economy of the shared-apartment and could potentially be a thorn later on. David turns away and catches the taunting flick of a tail.

The second-hand ticks and the minute-hand clicks. The odour of detergent intensifies over time, mixed with the faint scent of petrichor. The soft sounds of purring fade in and out rhythmically, like a low bass that encompasses all. The nostalgic feel of fabric under his fingertips as if his fingers were weaving through a mane brings to his ears the sound of his own heart.

David squints as glowing rays of sunlight invades the room through cracks of shifting curtains.

Today is quiet. Yesterday was quiet. It was until the phone rang.

 

 

David carelessly answered the call, forgetting to check the number. He gave a genuine greeting, smile and everything. It faltered while there was a pause on the other end. When they spoke, a hushed gasp broke from him.

Matt stopped him from ending it there, raising his concerned hazel irises from the other side of the room. So, David retained his smile, the slightest shake of his head waving away Matthias' concerns. Then he listens as the gravelly voice throughout his past called for him. Inviting him back. A reunion after the years. An anniversary. Something about _burning and building bridges_.

_"We'll talk tomorrow?"_

David heard enough. He ended the call with a jab of the button. Matthias gathered him up and he sobbed, wailed, howled. Hours on hours.

Finally, it died. "We'll talk tomorrow," he decides.

 

 

That was yesterday.

The click of the door disturbs the calm. The crude jingling of keys pulls Thompson off his makeshift-bed and amble towards the source. Heavy footfalls still David's breathing, but he eases himself onto his feet when tobacco didn't come in waves. His eyes remain on his roommate, trudging with two reusable bags in hand. Two _new_ bags.

"Forgot to bring some?"

Matt shrugs and scrunches his nose, skirting around the Maine Coon and plops the groceries onto the coffee table. The wood shudders. A leap of Thompson onto the small furniture follows.

David returns once more to his work, regrettably finding that he'd finished. The shirts and pants separated into folded piles, socks balled up and the essence of detergent lingering. The itch is still there as well. David sits there, spacing, while Matt waves away Thompson's attempt of an early lunch.

After a full minute, the cat surrenders and scoots off the wood, sticking the landing. David moves to aid his roommate, who'd begun depositing the cans of cat food in the cupboard, the ones David could never reach. David advances to the bags, plucking out a box of ice-cream and a bag of sausages, then meanders to the fridge. He revisits _Tetris_.

Together, they're done under a minute, and both crash onto the couch. A plume of dust following the impact. Thompson wanders in between, finding a place on their laps. David reaches into one of the corners and pulls out the stashed remote, flicking the television to life.

The screen is on, but neither could tell what it is showing. David leans onto Matt's shoulder and sinks into the comfortable seating. He glances at the wall phone.

Matthias nuzzles his head and mumbles out a question barely above a whisper, and barely caught. David tears blurry eyes away and smiles.

"No. Nothing happened today. We'll talk tomorrow."


End file.
